


i used to run at first sight of the sun

by fantasy_spoilers8



Series: sight of the sun [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Asexual John Laurens, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Casual Intimacy, Dad Friend Hercules Mulligan, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Underage, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Poor John, Pre-Slash, Self-Esteem Issues, Songfic, Sort Of, Trans Alexander Hamilton, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, actually homoromantic john laurens but that tag doesn't exist, very brief tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasy_spoilers8/pseuds/fantasy_spoilers8
Summary: Alexander knew he never should’ve let Lafayette drag him to a college party.John knew he never should’ve stood at the window that long, staring at the sunrise and trying to figure out just how to paint it.-Or, the one where Laf and Herc knock some sense into Alex, and John loses control.





	1. I Found a Martyr in My Bed Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> “He grabs me by the hand  
> Drags me to the shore and says  
> ‘Maybe you don’t love me,  
> But you’ll grow to love me even more.’  
> And I...  
> Well, I’m not surprised.”
> 
> -My Number by Tegan and Sara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things to know for this chapter:
> 
> Alex is the Washingtons’ foster child.
> 
> Lafayette is not, but he is staying with the Washingtons while in America.
> 
> Alex hasn’t had top surgery yet or started HRT.
> 
> And this chapter takes place in February 2016, during Lafayette and Alex’s senior year of High School.
> 
> TW: brief attempted sexual assault

Alexander had read somewhere that your ears never stopped listening. When you went to sleep, everything seemed to stop working: your eyes became so deprived of stimulation that they spun stories for you to be a part of, all smells went right past your nose, your tongue became cemented to the roof of your mouth, and your skin lost all sensitivity to touch. Even your muscles and bones locked in place in a sort of pseudo-rigor mortis, feigning death as a rehearsal for the inevitable day your heart stopped beating.

But even when you were asleep, _especially_ when you were asleep, your ears were set to record. They said that you could remember things that had been whispered into your ears while you were asleep in perfect detail if you tried hard enough. Even if you weren’t aware of it, there was always a part of your brain keeping vigil, twenty-four hours a day, waiting, listening, learning.

That’s why Alexander wasn’t surprised when he woke up in bed alone. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that the girl he had slept with the night before was up and making breakfast. She must have told him when she woke up at the ass-crack of dawn. What was her name? Julia? Jessica? Jennifer? Something with a J.

He sat up disorientedly, surprised by the softness of the sheets against his skin. _Wow,_ he thought, _Laf’s right. Quality sheets do make a difference._

He ran his hands through his hair, not even surprised when his fingers came away covered in glitter. “Of fucking course.” he grumbled.

Once Lafayette started pulling out the body glitter, Alexander knew he’d be seeing it in every nook and cranny for at least the next month.

He sat up and reached blindly for his phone on the bedside table. Squinting at the screen, he saw that not only was it on 7%, but he had no less than a dozen unread messages from Lafayette.

He unlocked his phone and read the barrage of texts, lips quirking up in a smile as he read the contact name he had put for Laf years ago:

(3:37 AM) _french fucker:_ alex

(3:38 AM) _french fucker:_ a l e x

(3:46 AM) _french fucker:_ allllexxXXXXABNNNDdddeRTR!!

(3:47 AM) _french fucker:_ I’m so fucking drunkkk mdr

(3:49 AM) _french fucker:_ où diable es-tu allé??

(3:51 AM) _french fucker:_ merde herc tells me he saw you leave with some girl???

(3:52 AM) _french fucker:_ tell me you weren’t as drunk off your ass as I am rn s’il te plait

(3:52 AM) _french fucker:_ merde á la puissance treiziéme

(3:54 AM) _french fucker:_ i’m crashing at Herc’s place, dw I’ll tell the Washingtons you came with me zzzxzfhtjygkuhlijnomlk

(4:15 AM) _french fucker:_ I confiscated Lafayette’s phone when they passed out face first in my bed. Be safe little homie, and come over here tomorrow -Herc

(4:16 AM) _french fucker:_ I mean today -Herc

(4:16 AM) _french fucker:_ fuck if I know just get your ass over here at some point to drag Laf home -Herc

Alex threw his phone back on the nightstand and flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. He knew he should probably be scrounging for his clothes where they were strewn all over the floor. But this girl’s bed was really, really comfortable.

* * *

He had met the girl at a college party Lafayette had dragged him to last night against his will.

“Laf, they’re going to know we’re high school kids in a heartbeat,” Alexander had said, attempting valiantly to get his arm out of Lafayette’s grip as they walked down the block.

Lafayette had only grinned. “Mon chou, I have enough makeup on right now that if I told them I was the Queen of Sheba, they’d believe it.”

And they were right. Lafayette had managed to cover their entire face in so much makeup that Alexander felt he could peel it off if he tried. Lafayette was wearing a tight metallic-gold tube top and leggings that appeared to have been spray-painted onto their legs, completely untouched by the freezing air. Somehow Lafayette had managed to transcend certain physical sensations, like feeling cold. At least, that was Herc’s theory. Alex was legitimately concerned that Lafayette’s tight clothing had completely restricted all blood flow to their brain. But hey, who was he to judge?

Alex was dressed much more conservatively in jeans and a t-shirt with a blazer on top in an attempt to look dressy, but it did almost nothing against to ward against the cold.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Alexander grumbled, rubbing his hands together in a hopeless attempt to generate some warmth.

“Petit lion, stop complaining. We’re almost there.”

Once they were inside some frat boy’s house (honestly, Alexander seriously worried about who Laf was hanging around with sometimes), someone thrust a red solo cup into Alex’s hand and he downed the drink gratefully. What with the way the music was pounding through his skull, he was going to need some help getting through tonight. The room was filled to the brim with people, and Lafayette and Alex could barely squeeze through the door.

“Frérot,” Laf said into his ear, “I see Adrienne in the corner over there with her boyfriend. Do you mind if I go over and talk to them?”

Alex shook his head and waved Lafayette off. He took another sip of his drink and grimaced at the taste. With any hope, he’d be getting laid tonight.

He headed over to a gaggle of girls he saw near the staircase.

“Hello, ladies,” he said in the most charming voice he could manage, his voice cracking a bit by the end.

The girl closest to him giggled. “Well, aren’t you cute,” she said in a melodic voice. Alex felt his mouth go dry. “I’m Jasmine.”

“A-Alex,” he said, once he had regained his voice.

She giggled. “What’s that short for?” she asked. “Alexis?”

Alex felt a fist clench over his heart. In lieu of answering, he forced a laugh and took a chug from his drink. “Alex is fine,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

A snide voice in his head whispered, _So_ _much_ _for_ _being_ _a_ _defender_ _of_ _men_. He shoved it down.

“What’s your major?” the girl asked. He forced himself to look up at her and saw her eyes fixated on his in a mesmerizing stare. Wow, her eyes were blue.

“Uh, Political Science,” Alexander said, coming up with it on the spot. “I want to go into politics.”

“Wow, that’s so interesting! You know I always said……”

Alexander tried hard to look into her distractingly blue eyes while she spoke, at her distractingly intricate eyeliner, her ruby red lips. He really did. But _damn,_ did she have a lot of cleavage.

Three more drinks and god-knows how many minutes later, Alex was pressed up against the side of the staircase leading upstairs, his tongue down the girl’s throat, his arms around her shoulders and her hands on his ass.

“You wanna get out of here?” she said against his mouth.

“ _God,_ yes.”

* * *

Alex felt around the floor until he found an object that looked vaguely like the pants he had worn last night and threw them on. He trudged around for the rest of his clothes and got ready to make the walk of shame over to Herc’s.

Alex stepped out of the bedroom and almost knocked heads with the girl. She was dressed in a lacy white tank top and boy shorts, her hair thrown up in a chignon, holding a glass of orange juice.

“Oh!” Jennifer, Julia, Jacqueline (Jordan?) said with a sickly sweet smile. “You scared me half to death.”

Alex chuckled nervously. “I really have to get going,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh, come on.” Joy, Jane, Jenna said, putting the orange juice down on the coffee table. “The sun just came up. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“No, really, my friends are expecting me.” Alex said, a little more forcefully.

He started to make his way to the front door when Jocelyn, Janet, Joanna wrapped her hands around his waist from behind. “All my friends keep teasing me because I can’t get a chick to stay longer than the night,” she said, kissing the crook of his neck. “How about we prove them wrong?”

Alexander felt his entire body shudder. “Let go of me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Aw, sweetheart, you don’t mean that,” she said, her hand trailing down, down, down-

Alex gently, but firmly, shoved the girl away.

He grabbed his blazer from where he had thrown it on the couch and threw it on.

The girl grabbed his arm, smiling. “Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that!” He felt ice flood his veins as she pulled him hard enough that he stumbled into her arms. She put her lips to his ear and said, “You’re too pretty to act all mean.”

Alex let out an inhuman-sounding scream and elbowed the girl hard in the stomach.

_He had to get out he had to get out he had to get out-_

“Fucking dyke bitch!” he heard her yell.

He bolted out the door, not stopping long enough to hear it slam behind him.

* * *

“Oh, mon frére,” Laf said as they opened Herc’s door to find Alexander shaking from head to toe on the stoop. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I ran here,” said Alexander, chest heaving.

“De quelle distance?! Mon dieu, you must be freezing, come here.”

“I-” Alex started before he felt his eyes smarting with tears.

“Come here.” Lafayette said again. They enveloped him in a crushing hug, and he buried his face in their shoulder to muffle his sobs.

“It will all be alright, I promise.” Lafayette cooed, rubbing Alexander’s back soothingly.

They stood there like that for a long while. Eventually, Alexander heard Hercules’s voice coming from inside the house and getting increasingly closer.

“Laf, what are you doing? You’re letting all the cold air come inside the-” he stopped when he saw Alexander. “Oh. Hey man, are you ok?”

Alex let out a weak chuckle. Lafayette’s arm never leaving his shoulders, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stepped into the warmth.

* * *

After Alexander had finished telling them the whole story, Lafayette hadn’t stopped fussing over him.

Alexander currently sat on Hercules’s couch in a fresh pair of pajamas, bundled in no less than six blankets while Lafayette ran off to get him some comfort food.

Hercules sat next to him, surrounded by his knitting supplies. Amidst the clattering sounds and occasional French swears coming from the kitchen, Hercules was concentrating on knitting a long scarf with intense focus, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he worked.

Alex huffed. There was no reason for his friends to be overreacting like this. Sure, he’d had a bad experience with a one-night stand. But that happened to everyone. And it wasn’t like the girl knew what she was signing up for. She had no idea that calling him a _chick_ , that calling him _pretty_ would set him off like that, make him feel powerless, make him feel like scratching his skin off, make him feel disconnected from his body, like he was floating away and would never be able to come back no matter how hard he tried…

That girl thought she was hooking up with a lesbian. And Alex was fine with that. Really, he was. It was worth it if people wanted to hook up with him. He knew the only way he’d ever get anyone to be attracted to him was if he pretended he was a girl-

“Dude, don’t tell me you actually think that.”

Alexander whipped his head around, completely startled. “...What?”

Herc looked at him, completely unimpressed. “All that shit about pretending to be a girl so people will like you? That’s a load of crap and you know it.”

Alexander paled as he realized he had said all of his thoughts out loud.

“Herc-”

Hercules laid down his knitting needles and turned to face Alexander fully.

“You’re fucking awesome, man. And I will personally kick the ass of anyone who says otherwise. If I was into dudes, I’d be all over you.” Alex felt something in his chest tighten at that. “I only wish you remembered that bitch’s goddamn name so I could sic my buddies on her.”

Despite himself, Alex laughed. “Herc, I know you don’t actually have mafia friends that can beat up my enemies.”

Herc tilted his head and glared at Alexander with a glint in his eye. “Do you really think so?”

Alex swatted him with a pillow.

* * *

Late that night, when Alexander was finally back in his own bed, his mind began to wander dangerously.

_You know they all see you as a girl. And that’s what you want. If they don’t think you’re a girl they’ll know what a freak you are and won’t want anything to do with you-_

Alex fiercely rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighed. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.

He got out of bed and headed over to his desk, booting up his laptop and opening the word doc containing his running commentary growing dissent in international politics. He began to write:

_The causes of hostility among nations are innumerable. There are some which have a general and almost constant operation upon the collective bodies of society. Of this description are the love of power or the desire of pre-eminence and dominion--the jealousy of power, or the desire of equality and safety...._

“Alexandre?” said a sleepy voice from the doorway. “Pourquoi diable es-tu encore réveillé? Il est presque trois heures.”

Alexander didn’t even glance. “Stayed up later than that last night, Laf. It won’t kill me if I do it again.”

“Petit lion…”

“Don’t worry about it, Laf, I’m fine.”

Lafayette walked around to the other side of Alex’s desk and slammed his laptop shut.

“Laf!”

“Non, Alexandre. You are going to sleep.”

Lafayette picked him up, despite his loud protests, and carried him back over to the bed. They got under the covers with him and snuggled into his side.

“Laf-”

“Non.”

Alexander lay there for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling, trapped with his thoughts yet again.

He began to squirm restlessly, hyper-aware of the fact that the thoughts of dread and anxiety that loved to sneak up on him at times like this were only growing louder. The tick of his alarm clock was deafening. He looked up at the ceiling and saw the faint, blurry outlines of shapes and swirls in the darkness.

When his mind refused to quiet, he decided to voice one of his fears.

“Laf?” he said quietly, not really expecting there to be an answer.

“Oui?” he heard, muffled from somewhere under his pillow.

“Can I ask you a question?” Alex asked softly.

He felt Laf’s fingers curl around his bicep and their face rest on top of his shoulder. Alexander felt the warmth emanating from Lafayette’s skin as they tangled their legs together. “Of course, frérot.”

Alex chuckled. “I’m not your little brother.”

“Yes, you are. Now what was your question?”

Alexander felt the words stick in his throat. It was one thing to wonder this, but an entirely different think to voice the question out loud.

“Do you...” he said hesitantly, “do you think someone will ever fall in love with me?”

Lafayette was silent for a long time. Alexander feared the worst.

“No, you know what, just- just forget I said anything-”

Lafayette’s voice finally came, deep and melodic from where he was resting on Alex’s arm.

“I believe that somewhere out there, everyone has a, how do you say- une âme sœur.”

“A soulmate?”

“No, not that- I like the French much better. A sister soul. We all have a sister soul somewhere; someone who is ours in every way and completes us as people. They take all different shapes for all different people. Perhaps we are each others’. I really do not know whether your great love will be a brother, a sister, a lover, or a friend. But I can promise you that one day you will know.”

Alex closed his eyes. “How the fuck can you say that? Terrible things happen all the time. There’s no way of knowing whether or not we’ll find true love, or if we’ll recognize it when it hits us.” Alex’s voice was so quiet now it was barely a whisper. “What if- what if I’m alone forever?”

“You will never be alone, frérot. Me and Herc, we will always be there. And so will the Washingtons.”

Alex sighed. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

He forced a laugh. “Y‘know, you’re awfully fucking deep for 3:00 in the morning.”

Lafayette chuckled.

“Bonne nuit, Alexandre.”

“Bonne nuit. Je t’aime.”

“Je t’aime aussi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to “Frozen” by Tegan and Sara while writing this chapter.
> 
> Please comment below if you’d like to let me know what you think of this!!


	2. This One is Not for the Folks at Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...a lot darker than the first one. weLP.
> 
> It takes place in October 2015, during John's senior year of High School
> 
> His sister Mary Eleanor is four, and his sister Martha is twelve.
> 
> TW: physical child abuse told from an outsider POV, homophobic slurs

John hated mornings with a passion.

The incessant, harsh beeping of the alarm clock on his nightstand dragged him by the scruff of his neck out of sleep and into the waking world. John couldn’t help but feel personally offended by the alarm clock’s attack on his ears, even though he was the one who set it to go off in the first place.

He lifted his arm out of the cocoon of blankets he’d managed to tangle himself in during the course of the night and blindly slapped the offending device in an attempt to get it to shut off.

Evidently, the alarm clock did not appreciate his attack. It only seemed to grow louder.

 _“Jack!”_ his father barked from the hall. _“Turn that goddamn thing off!”_

John cursed under his breath. “Sorry, sir!” he called over the beeping, internally wincing as the words left his mouth.

“I don’t _want_ you to apologize,” his father said, just as John knew he would. “I want you to _do_ as I _say_.”

John threw the blankets off his body and almost fell out of bed in his haste as his feet remained tangled in the sheets. He impatiently tore the sheets away and staggered over to his nightstand. John slammed his fist onto the alarm clock, and it powered down with a pitiful whine.

“I really need a new fucking alarm clock,” John said under his breath.

He squinted at his window and saw that it was barely even light out yet. He felt like he was being pulled over to the window, like the unknown sight outside beckoning him. He went over to it and pulled up the shade until the whole window was exposed. Outside, the world was still asleep. The barest sliver of sun could be seen over the horizon line. But somehow, it was powerful enough to transform the whole sky.

 _How the hell did that happen?_ John gazed at the sky, slack-jawed, trying to fathom how a white-hot bubble of gases, millions of miles away, managed to create every color of the rainbow. The sun itself was yellow, white if you looked at it until it hurt your eyes. The sky right around the sun was sunflower yellow, letting go of its intensity until it lessened into a burnt orange. If you looked around, you could see the clouds drifting along, changing shape and form until they were not clouds at all, but puffs of pink cotton candy, sharply contrasted against the clear, sapphire blue of the sky.

A smile creeping its way onto his face, John opened his window and stuck his head out, feeling the sticky breeze on his face, to get a better look. If he craned his neck until he was looking directly upward, the sky faded into deep, comforting greens and secretive blues, until it looked as if the sunrise had never existed at all. He turned back around to marvel at the sun, the clouds moving along without a care in the world.

John didn’t know how long he stood there, jaw smashed into his hand as he oohed and aahed at the wonder of it all like a lovesick idiot. _Wow,_ he wanted to paint that.

“What the hell are you doing, Jack?”

John startled so hard he banged his head on the windowpane. “I’m- I’m sorry sir, I was just-”

John’s father yanked him away from the window by his arm and used it to pin him to the wall.

“Jack, you know you’re supposed to be getting ready for school,” his father drawled, an almost amused expression on his face. “What are you doing starin’ at the sunrise like a pansy?”

John forced a hollow laugh. “Guess I’m still a little tired, sir,” he choked out. “Almost fell asleep opening the window.”

His father regarded him suspiciously. John felt his breath catch in his throat. His father nodded once, seemingly accepting John’s flimsy lie, and let go of his arm.

“Get a move on, Jack,” his father said on his way out without turning back around.

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

John felt like he was going to implode. Or throw himself out the window. Or murder every single person in the room.

Or most likely, a mixture of all three.

It had all gone to shit when his religion teacher played that goddamn video.

Before the video started, his “cool” teacher had sat down on a chair in front of the class and asked them all a question: “What is the truth?”

“Truth is stuff you can see with your eyes,” said a girl in the front with her dark hair pulled up into space buns.

“Exactly!” said the teacher with a grin. She picked up a wipe-off marker and let it fall out of her hand. “Like with this marker. No matter what anyone thinks, this marker is going to fall if I drop it. Everyone can see gravity, right? That makes it true. Does anyone else have another idea of what truth is?”

John piped up from his place in the back. “Truth is subjective.”

The teacher smiled at him, just as she had done with the girl, but he could see a hint of fear in her eyes. “Well, no need to get into that. We’re actually going to talk about that word later on.”

She took a deep breath, her smile fading for a second, and continued. “Just like there’s physical truth, like gravity, there’s also moral truth. Does anyone know what that means?”

“Like...stuff that’s right and wrong?” said the jock girl from the opposite corner of the room.

“Totally,” said the teacher, “and that’s what we’re learning about today. What’s truly right and truly wrong, no matter what anyone thinks.”

She clapped her hands with a grin. “Ok, guys! I have a special treat for you today. You’re not going to have to listen to me talk the whole period; we’re going to watch a video about the truth.”

Once the kids knew she wasn’t going to be lecturing at them, the whole room erupted in conversation.

She turned away from the class to go back over to her desk and play the video. Everyone was engrossed in conversation with their friends, but John was watching their teacher. From where John was sitting, he was one of the only students able to see her face as she walked to her desk. Her smile was gone. She looked very afraid, and very, very sad.

His eyes were drawn to her laptop and he let out a barely-suppressed gasp. She had star-shaped stickers forming a subtle rainbow pattern on the back. You wouldn’t see it unless you were looking for it. And of course, John was.

The teacher started the video. She turned to the kid closest to the light switch and said, “Kill ‘em.”

The lights shut off. The room seemed much larger in the dark.

Many kids were whispering to their friends about how happy they were for the chance to sleep. John was anything but relaxed.

The video began and a hip-hop artist in a recording booth came on the screen. The camera showed a few shots of him at work before he stepped out of the recording studio to reveal a priest’s collar.

 _Gotta make that religion relatable as fuck,_ John thought with a grimace.

The priest sat down in front of the camera and began to speak.

“People often believe in subjective truth,” he said. “They think that some things are true only to certain people. But that just doesn’t make sense.”

John began to tap his pointer fingers rhythmically on the desk in an attempt to distract himself. _Right left right right. Right left right right._

“Think about this example for a minute,” the priest said. “What if someone came up to you and said it was ok to push your grandmother down a flight of stairs? That would be horrible, and ridiculous. Of course that’s wrong; there’s no two ways about it.”

_Left right left left. Left right left right._

“Just like this fact is objectively true, every single aspect of morality is objectively true, whether some people like it or not.”

_Right right right right. Left left left left._

John was a veteran of talks like this; he knew how they worked. The person would start small, with an example any person with a conscience would agree with. Then slowly, so slowly most people didn’t even notice it, they’d reveal their true nature. It was like that age-old saying about a frog in boiling water. Throw them into the boiling pot, they’ll jump out. But put the frog into a pot with cool water and slowly turn up the heat, and the frog will be boiled to death before it even realizes what’s happening.

The priest pursed his lips above his expertly-sculpted goatee and continued.

“Let’s look at the example of homosexuality.” John smashed his fingers into his eyes until he saw spots.

“Many homosexuals say that their deviant sexual activity is them expressing their freedom, and they call freedom their right to make decisions for themselves. True freedom is the ability to choose what is right. _License,_ acting foolishly and outside of your own best interest, is what these people are doing.”

 _Catholic Church rule #32,_ John thought. _Always pick two different words that mean the exact same thing and tell people they’re opposites._

“Lust is the enemy of all of us. Guys, I know that when you look at a girl, you’re not always thinking the way you should. Girls, I know that all of you know what it’s like to be made to feel uncomfortable by a lust-consumed boy.”

John wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“But true love exists, and you only need to obey the simple rules God has given you to find it.”

John wasn’t sure if true love existed. Hell, even if it did, he was less sure that he would ever find it. But he did know one thing: he wasn’t going to find it by listening to a priest who pretended to like hip-hop while reading from a teleprompter.

“Ponder this logical proof,” the priest continued on the screen. “If you love someone, you want what is best for them.”

_Check._

“If you want what is best for someone, you will not do anything that is harmful to them.”

_Check._

“Lust, the idea that another person does not have the same dignity as you do and is only meant to be an object of sexual desire, is a terrible thing that harms everyone involved.”

_Check...sort of._

“So, if you truly love someone, you will deny all thoughts of lust, and guide them towards what they were created for: a true relationship with God, found by pursuing a true, life-long, child-producing marriage.”

_And there it is._

If anyone ever needed the advice of an expert on proliferating propaganda, John would be their man. He knew the system inside and out. He knew how the straight white men in power would carefully use their words to warp the minds of children into exactly the shape they desired. He knew how they would use their power and influence to spread hate all over the world under the guise of spreading love.

The Church would campaign for the deaths and ostracization of any group they disagreed with, while pretending to stand for love and acceptance of all. They would preach endlessly about the importance of revolution and of choice, but only when your choice was the _right_ one. They would talk for hours about the importance of knowledge, while making all of it completely processed and chopped up and totally inaccessible.

_War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength._

John knew that not every Catholic was like this. He knew that probably most Catholics weren’t like this. But that thought was really, really hard to hold onto when you were in a classroom full of people who either didn’t care or completely agreed every word coming out of this guy’s mouth.

When the video ended and the lights came back on, John had only two words in his mind: _Fuck it._

“Does anyone else think that that didn’t make any sense?” he said, low enough that most of the people in the room couldn’t hear him.

Space bun girl did.

“What do you mean? It made perfect sense, Jack,” she said.

A small part of John’s brain vaguely realized that he should take the out and shut up before it was too late.

“Well, aren’t they trying to force people to live the way they want them to?” he said.

The teacher looked as if all the blood had drained from her face.

“How could you say that, Jack?” said space bun girl. “They’re not telling anyone how to live. They’re just saying that what they believe is right!”

“That is telling people how to live.”

“You know, it’s like gun control.” said the boy sitting behind space-bun girl, John’s ex-best friend, Francis Kinloch. “Some people think that gun control is really important, but lots more people believe they have a right to bear arms and that guns will protect them from intruders. Who are we to tell them they’re wrong?”

John forced himself to take a breath before answering as he was punished with a flood of memories about Francis. Francis used to be his oldest friend, the person he did everything with. The two of them would hide out in Francis’s backyard after Church every Sunday, playing with the worms, tending to the garden plants, and muffling their laughter as they shit-talked everyone in the neighborhood.

Francis would always complain about all the girls that were asking him out. He’d pretend to be annoyed about the attention, and would then shoot John a winning smile, saying, “But Jack, you know you can’t blame them. I’m a catch!”

John had agreed with that statement a little bit too much. One day, he’d completely misread the situation, had gone in to give Francis a kiss on his rose-pink lips, and had ended up with a black eye.

After John had begged and pleaded with him for what felt like hours, Francis had finally agreed not to tell anyone else about the incident. But they were never friends again.

Now, forced to interact with Francis in school, John felt his fists clench. Like someone else was possessing his body, he felt a flood of words pour from his lips.

“A right to bear arms, first off, is conditional,” he said, not making eye contact with Francis. “The Constitution grants that right only to people part of a _well-regulated militia._ ”

_Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up-_

John’s voice only grew louder.

“Do you really think your redneck trigger-happy daddy is part of a militia? And do you really want to tell the families of the victims of school shootings that believing their children’s lives don’t matter is just a difference of opinion? And anyway, how the fuck is this relevant to homophobia?”

 _Stop talking stop talking stop talking, h_ _onestly, hold your tongue, Jack, what would your mother say?_

John couldn’t stop talking.

“If I force myself to dumb down my thoughts, I can see your point about how some people think no gun control is a good thing because they ‘want to defend themselves.’ But who the fuck thinks homophobia is a good thing? Only people who hate other people. The two examples are completely incomparable!”

John realized he had gotten out of his seat and was shouting in Francis’s face. The whole class had stopped their conversations to turn and watch the spectacle.

“Why would you care, Jack?” Francis said.

Francis lowered his voice enough to seem like he was sharing a secret with John, but it was not nearly low enough to keep the whole class from overhearing. “You’re not a faggot, are you Jack?”

John clenched his jaw and dug his fingernails so hard into the palms of his hands he felt them break the skin.

“Oh, wait!” Francis said mockingly in that same pseudo-whisper. “That’s right. Jack’s the biggest fairy boy there is.”

John launched himself at him.

He vaguely heard the shouting of the other students as he used all his strength to sock Francis in the jaw. Francis’s head snapped back and the force of it knocked the desk he was sitting in onto the floor. Francis wasn’t even able to get a hit in before John was on top of him.

He barely paused for breath as he poured all his concentration into pummeling Francis into oblivion. When blood began to pour out of Francis’s nose, John grabbed Francis by the hair until their eyes met and laughed darkly when he realized that he himself was completely unscathed.

He got as close to Francis’s face as he could and growled, “I want you to go and tell everyone you know that a fucking faggot just beat the absolute shit out of you. And that you didn’t even make a dent.”

Suddenly, John heard a voice from behind him. “ _What is the meaning of this_?”

He turned around to see his principal, a portly, middle-aged, bespectacled man, staring at him with unadulterated rage on his face.

John swore under his breath.

* * *

Mary Eleanor Laurens _really, really_ loved Barbie dolls. More than once, her older brother Jacky had shook his head and laughed when he saw how careful she was with them all. But Mary Eleanor didn’t mind. It didn’t matter what other people thought- that’s what Patsy always told her, anyway. 

_Don’t listen to Jacky,_ Patsy would say when she brushed Mary Eleanor’s hair out before bed. _He’s just jealous of your dolls._

Today, Mary Eleanor was doing what she did every day while the nanny went out to lunch. Mary Eleanor wasn’t supposed to tell anyone her nanny left during the day, but she didn’t mind. It just meant she had more time to do as she pleased.

She was currently standing on her tiptoes on the colorful step-stool next to the bathroom sink with all her dolls place in a line on the counter. As carefully as she could (her fingers were too tiny and kept slipping, unfortunately), she washed every doll’s hair with her very own shampoo and laid them out to dry while she mixed all the conditioners together in a big bottle.

Suddenly, she heard the front door slam open. She was startled, but very confused. The nanny was usually out for another hour at least. Mary Eleanor gulped. Her nanny would _kill_ her if she saw Mary Eleanor washing her dolls’ hair. She had told her more than once what a waste of time it was. What was she doing back so early?

Mary Eleanor hopped off the step-stool and peered around the edge of the bathroom door. She heard muffled voices from downstairs that definitely didn’t sound like her nanny. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Mary Eleanor started to creep back into the bathroom when she heard a loud bang accompanied by a “God _dammit_ , Jack!”

That was definitely Daddy. But he always spent the whole day at work. Why was he home so early?

She heard Jacky’s voice reply, but it was so much softer than her father’s that she couldn’t make out what he said.

Mary Eleanor heard a loud thump.

“You think I care that you were provoked?”

Another thump.

Mary Eleanor tiptoed over to the banister where she knew she could listen without being seen. She couldn’t see what was going on either, but from here she could hear what they were saying.

“Father, please, I’m sorry, I-”

 _Thump._ “You think I want your goddamn apologies?

“I just-”

Mary Eleanor heard what sounded like a loud clap. She furrowed her eyebrows. Why would Daddy be clapping if he was angry at Jacky? Did one of them see a fly and try to kill it?

“Sir, I-”

Her father spoke again and she had to press her ear as far between the bars of the banister railing as she could to hear him.

“I thought we had an agreement, son. We were going to leave this delusion behind us.”

Mary Eleanor heard someone let out a sob.

Suddenly, Jacky raised his voice for the first time since they had walked in the house. “ _It’s not a delu-”_

_Thump._

Mary Eleanor thought she heard a glass break, and someone started to scream.

* * *

Much later that night, John heard a soft knock at his door. He limped over to the door, clutching his side, and moved the chair he had propped up against it out of the way. He pried open the door and was confused when he saw no one. He slowly looked down to see Mary Eleanor blinking up at him.

“Polly, what are you doing up this late?” he asked softly.

His baby sister lifted her face out of the blanket she was holding just enough so he could hear her speak. “I heard you and Daddy fighting, Jacky. And you were crying just now. Why are you sad?”

John’s heart broke.

“I’m not sad, sweetheart,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “You must have been dreaming.”

Normally he would pick her up, but he settled for taking one of her tiny hands into his own. “Let’s go back to bed, ok?”

Her smile back on her face, she tugged at his arm. “Carry me, Jacky!”

John grimaced. “I’ll carry you tomorrow, Polly,” he said as they walked to her room. “I hurt myself a little today by accident.”

“How’d you get hurt, Jacky?”

“Oh, you know,” John said. “I'm a klutz. I tripped over somebody’s books.”

* * *

The next day, John didn’t bother going to the window. He left the house before dawn, and didn’t speak to a soul.

As he ran to school, his feet slapping harshly on the pavement, he felt the sunlight burning his back like a brand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I’m Alaina, and I project my feelings onto the founding fathers.
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> I listened to "My Number" by Tegan and Sara while writing this.
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> Thank you so much for reading, and if you were to leave a comment, no matter how incoherent, it would really make my day. I'll be updating this series soon, so keep checking in.


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